


I'm Sorry

by Psudoname



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Psychological Trauma, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5411111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psudoname/pseuds/Psudoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Citra gave him two options. Friends or Citra. Civilization or jungle. Weakness or strength. It's too bad Jason's a floater and decided to carve his own path, one that will hopefully make him less of a monster. Even if the voices in his head disagree. Especially when the dead won't stay dead. Eventual Vaason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm only going to give this disclaimer once, so here it is: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. The characters, the (original) plot, the setting, nothing. All of it belongs to its respectful owners. Nothing at all is owned by me. Especially Vaas. Also, read at your own risk. I plan on this story getting pretty dark and there may be triggers. I mean, it is Far Cry 3, a game themed around killing, torture, madness, and manipulation.
> 
> I really had to do this scene justice but there also had to be some kind of justification for Jason to not immediately save his friends. I feel like Jason would consider it. Why would we, the player, even think about it when we just sunk 25ish hours trying to save his friends. Anyway, I didn't want a wall of text at the beginning, so there's another A/N at the bottom.

"Sometimes when you win, you lose."

-Robin Williams, _What Dreams May Come_

* * *

 

Jason didn't know what this was, but it sure as hell didn't feel like winning.

His brain felt fuzzy and his eyes burned as the pressure at the base of his skull began to recede and, when he blinked again, he was back in Citra's temple. Liza was in front of him, cradling her face into his gloved hand. The shine of the full moon reflected two lines on her face. Was she crying? Why was she crying? Jason released the hand clutching her head and gently shushed her, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

 _The thing about our loved ones, right? Our fucking loved ones, they come and they blindside you every fucking time._ He looked to his right and saw no one there. _Don't give them the fucking chance. Do it,_ Vaas whispered. What did he want him to do? _Do it, Jason. Fucking do it!_

Shut up.

Jason glanced down and realized there was a knife hovering just inches from Liza's throat. Holy fuck, when the hell did _that_ get there? He decided he was going to fucking kill whoever was holding it. His eyes found the hand holding the blade and trailed up the arm. It was his arm. It was his hand. It was his ceremonial dagger.

Was this even real or was he still hallucinating? The powder Citra gave him was apparently some pretty strong shit, so strong that he could have swore he saw hell: fire and brimstone and screaming. Demons had stood in his way to Citra, yelling, nagging, berating, emasculating. His attention came back to the woman in front of him when Liza began to beg. Why was he still holding the knife? He remembered now. She was one of the demons, she was one of them but right now she was Liza. She was real. They were not.

He tried to move the dagger away, but his arm was frozen in place. Liza tried to back her head away but Jason's hand, the one that gave her comfort only moments ago, held her still. Glassy, frantic blue eyes raised to meet his and begged. Why did she look so afraid? Didn't she know that he wouldn't hurt her? Didn't she know one of the lessons the Rakyat taught him was honor and that the way of the warrior told him not to kill an innocent? Then again, why the hell couldn't he move the fucking knife away from her throat?

"You are strong," Citra's hand ghosted across his back as her sultry voice whispered in his other ear. Between the accent he thought was sexy as hell and the wistful tone he was sure could lead the strongest man to death, he was powerless to stop the warm shiver from running down his spine. "Powerful. One of the best warriors on the island. I have seen you fight, Jason. You could be the best. You _will_ be the best. Complete your tatau, Jason. Break the ties of your family. They hold you back, they make you weak. I love you, Jason, and I want you to do this. For me _and_ for yourself." She stroked his cheek, he absently nodded. "The Rakyat need a leader. I will make you a king." The way she was looking at him, with such passion, such intensity, he was nearly helpless to deny her anything.

And Jason really considered it. She wasn't wrong: they had all tried to convince him to slow down at one point or another. Plus, she promised him a good life with sex and thrill and adventure, everything he'd always craved. L.A. suddenly seemed tedious, monotonous. Worthless. He'd killed hundreds of times before and really, what was once more? Just add a little pressure, a little more force, and swipe sideways. He could stay on the Rook Islands.

He could finally be free.

His thoughts were interrupted when blue eyes, beautiful blue eyes he'd loved so much, met his and flared in horror. She must have known what he was thinking, she was always good at that. He didn't want to see her so sad and scared, but their eyes were glued together and he couldn't tear them away and he was stuck. She rubbed her cheek against his hand. "No, Jas! Please! Please… please, Jason! I'm sorry. I know I should've been more supportive," she whimpered. "No, Jason. No! No, please!" Her voice broke and she lost control as sobs wracked her body.

Jason lowered the blade. Been more supportive? Sure, Liza has frowned at his tatau and glared at his weapons, but she didn't understand. None of them did. They didn't feel the rush, the thrill, the feeling of holding someone else's life in your hands. He could understand that, but why was she blaming herself? She'd never done anything wrong and always tried her best not to disappoint anyone. Hell, she even turned down a fucking Hollywood role to skydive with him. She shouldn't have even been here in the first place.

 _Look at the way she's looking at you, Jas,_ another voice sneered. It wasn't Vaas this time. Who was it? _She thinks you're crazy. She thinks you finally lost it. You're_ allowing _her to breathe the same air as you and, look at her, Snow White. Look at that worthless bitch. She's disrespecting you, man. Show her what you do to someone when they disrespect you._ Jason turned his head and frowned at what he saw.

A privateer, his neck bent and head drooping sideways at an odd angle, slid his arm around Jason's shoulders like they were old friends. Just like Ollie would do when he was trying to convince him to party even harder. From this distance, Jason had to crane his neck to read the stitching on the jacket. Foster. Why the hell wasn't the Rakyat stopping him?

 _Shh. That's it, it's all right. It'll all be over soon._ Foster grabbed Jason's wrist and raised the blade back to Liza's throat. He was pushing hard enough to make a mark. _All you gotta do is end this little bitch's existence. Just like you ended mine._

Jason wanted to take a step back, away from Liza. He didn't know what was scarier: that he couldn't move away or that Foster was right. She _was_ looking at him like he was a monster.

"Please, Jason. Please…don't."

His mouth was moving before he could stop it. "I don't like the way you're looking at me, Liza. Stop looking at me like that." What the hell was he saying? "Stop fucking looking at me like I'm fucking crazy!" Shit. Even to his own ears he sounded batshit. Didn't Vaas say those exact fucking words to him? Jason looked to his right and Foster was gone. It was just him, holding the knife. Fuck, he was hurting her and he couldn't even stop himself. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look more terrified and it was all directed at him. Liza finally averted her eyes, pinched her mouth, and stopped begging.

Shit, he needed to fix this, he wanted to apologize. His brain formed the sounds but his mouth choked on the words when her body caught fire. Suddenly, with skin burnt black and malice glowing her eyes gold, she wasn't Liza anymore.

 _Some warrior you are_ , she screamed at him. _You're not a real warrior. I bet you shot Vaas in the back! You think you deserve those tattoos?_ Whatever hold the voices had on his body released him and he quickly backpedaled, fingernails digging into his ears. _I'm taking them back. I'm deleting them, Jason._

Shut the fuck up.

He wanted to slit her throat, he really did. But then she was Liza again, sweet and harmless, silently weeping and mouth pinched shut. And he was pressing the knife even harder into her throat. God, even though he was careful not to draw blood, he felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. The worst part was he couldn't stop himself.

Maybe he _was_ a monster.

Fuck, this was all his fault: he brought them skydiving. It was his fault Riley was tortured and Keith was raped. It was his fault Grant was dead. He shouldn't be dead, he shouldn't have been shot. He always knew what to do and never hesitated to do the right thing. If Grant were here instead of him, he would have cut all of them free immediately. Liza, Daisy, Ollie, Keith, Riley. They would all be free. Why the hell was he hesitating? Why the hell couldn't he move? Why the hell didn't Vaas shoot him instead?

 _Did I ever tell you the definition of insanity, hermano? It's you, Jason,_ Vaas laughed, shrill and cruel and too close to his ear. _You_ are _insanity._

"Shut the fuck up!" He was _not_ insane, even if everyone stared at him like he was. He didn't know what he was but he was _not_ insane. Jason screamed and lunged forward with the knife. Liza cried and fought and panicked. He couldn't kill her though; he would have to be insane to kill her. If he did, she would be right there with Vaas in his head. Maybe, if he saved his friends, they would all be able to forgive him. Maybe Vaas would leave him alone.

He brought the blade up and severed the ties at Liza's hands, careful to avoid her wrists. She must have been hanging there longer than he'd thought because, as soon as the ropes were cut, she slumped forward and gracelessly hit the ground with a whump.

He hoped she could tell how sorry he was, how much like an asshole he felt. When he crouched next to her, her eyes held the same fear and apprehension as before, but she hugged him anyway. That was enough. That's why he fell in love with her, he remembered. She grounded him. She forgave him for all the stupid shit he did, even when they both knew he didn't deserve it. A shaky sigh passed her lips and her hand rested on top of his, on top of the knife, pleading for him to let go.

He gave it up.

Citra, probably unhappy about his decision, indignantly approached Jason and pulled him up and away from Liza, clinging to his other hand with desperation glinting in her wide eyes. "Jason, what are you doing? You could be-" He shushed her, waited for Liza to move to help Daisy, and tugged her aside, leading her down the stairs and away from his friends.

"Remember, after I killed Vaas? I made a promise to you, I told you-" Jason huffed at the sound of footsteps urgently approaching them. Someone was climbing the steps. Jason scoffed; whoever it was, they weren't even trying to be quiet. It must be one of the new warriors, he thought.

Jason recognized the man first by the glimmer of moonlight on wide glasses and second by the green army jacket. Dennis sprinted up the stairs two at a time like a bat out of hell, jealousy and fury marring his face. "Jason, what is wrong with you? Citra, she saved everyone. She saved me, she saved you, she loves you and still you reject her love." Dennis groaned and when Jason saw the gleam of a knife in his hand, he reached for the machete sheathe on his hip. He cursed to himself. It wasn't there and neither were his rucksack or ammo belts or anything else that could be remotely useful.

Jason considered disarming him. It should be easy enough. Dennis obviously wasn't the best in hand-to-hand combat: he was holding the blade way too loose and was leaving his body wide open.

When Dennis reached back and made to rush at him, Jason prepared himself to sidestep and counter but Citra rested a hand on Dennis' shoulder, stilling him immediately. Jason looked the other man in the eyes and nearly laughed. Big and brown and mad, just like the island's rabid dogs. He was tempted to tell Citra to send her mutt back to the kennel.

Fuck, maybe he _was_ crazy.

Jason tore his eyes away from Dennis when he heard how desperate Citra sounded, almost like she was going to cry. He didn't know if he could handle that. "Jason, why are you doing this? You are leaving the island? You will stop being a warrior, a hero, for these—these _people_ ," she spat. "They have no idea what you have been through, how much you have grown. How much you are capable of. Look at me, Jason. Stay with me," she demanded. "I love you, Jason. You do not need these _people_. They do not-" Jason cupped her face in his hands. She really was beautiful, even when she was angry, even when she was starting to piss him off.

_I get that, hermano, I get it. I mean without family, who the fuck are we?_

Jason felt the familiar flare of anger wash over him and heat his tatau. His bandaged finger throbbed. "They're not just fucking _people_ , Citra, they're my _family_. I already promised you I would stay here, with you. Relax. There doesn't have to be any more violence, not here, not anymore. No more- no Citra, let me finish. No more blood." Citra's frown deepened, bitter and confused. In that moment, she reminded him more of a pouty child than a Rakyat warrior the others considered a goddess. "My friends, they haven't done anything to you or any of the Rakyat. They've been put through enough hell, so they're going to leave." He pulled her close.

"Fine," Citra folded. That was a hell of a lot easier than Jason expected. Maybe he scared her too. "I will allow them to leave. But you must stay here with me. They do not need you. They can handle themselves. We need you. Our ancestors called you here so that _you_ could lead our people."

What she said brought Jason’s thoughts to a screeching halt. Why _had_ they come here? Jason couldn't believe he hadn't even though about it before. Citra thought they were brought by some fucked up gods, but that wasn't right. They didn't come so he could lead these people and they sure as shit weren't brought by anyone's dead family. This whole situation was an accident, right?

He and his friends went skydiving and when they landed, they had just enough time to get the equipment off and find a good spot to sunbathe before the pirates emerged from the bushes and captured them. It all seemed to happen so quick, so smooth. Almost too smooth. Jason felt like he was missing something, like there was something that should be so glaringly obvious but he just couldn't fully grasp it.

It was almost like Hoyt and Vaas knew they were coming, but that was impossible. They _chose_ to go skydiving. They _chose_ to come to the islands. They _chose_ to come to a place-

_Where you could do anything._

Wait. That's what Doug, the DJ at that club had told them. Suddenly things that Jason couldn't remember through the haze of the shots began to click into place.

Something had seemed slightly off about Doug. The way the DJ hovered around their group, the way he personally asked for song requests from their group just after Grant flashed his wallet and bought them another round of shots. The way the elevator just happened to be open and waiting when the fight started. The way he was the only other one in the elevator when he told them about the island.

Now that he thought about it, wasn't Doug wearing a red tank top? Weren't the pilots of the skydiving tour wearing red singlets? At the time, Jason thought it was just a part of the skydiving business' uniform but now—now they were too familiar. Why hadn't he realize it before: Doug and the pilots were working with Vaas!

Holy shit, they were fucked from the start.

Citra snapped her fingers expectantly, he muttered a curse. "Listen, Citra. I promised you I would kill your brother and I did. I promised you I would kill Hoyt and I did. I killed so many pirates and so many privateers but—but they're not all gone. They're not all dead. The men that brought us here, the men who took us skydiving, they were in on it. Your brother had men working for him outside the islands, in Bangkok." Somehow, it hurt to say it out loud. Like it made everything that happened so much more real. He decided then he wouldn't tell his friends about Doug. They didn't need any more stress.

He needed to make sure this doesn't happen again to anyone else. "I need to go back to Bangkok with my friends, Citra, but I'll be back." He could see it flooding her eyes, pinching her face. Doubt. Dennis moved to interrupt but apparently thought better of it when Jason glared. "Now it's your turn. _Look_ at me, Citra. Does it look like I'm lying? I'm not joking when I say I'm supposed to be here. This is my home now, but I have to make sure that my home is safe. I promise you, I swear to you, I'll be back." He sealed his lips to hers.

The kiss was meant to be an oath, saying everything he couldn't to make her understand. He _had_ to do this and he _would_ be back. Clearly, Citra didn't see it as that, if the way she pulled back and frowned at him was any indication. She shouldn't frown like that. She was so much more beautiful when she was smiling. "What if I say no?"

_Kill her, hermano. Drive a bullet through her skull._

Jason ignored the voice. "If you say no, the pirates still have men on the outside. Men that could easily recruit more and send them to fight us. I've met one of them personally, Citra. He's charismatic and clever and manipulative as hell. It wouldn't be hard for him to gather an army, shit, especially since he knows exactly where we are and how to get here." He held her hand in both of his and gave his best try at a meaningful look. She still looked unimpressed.

She nearly jerked away but he kissed her to try to silence whatever protest was forming on her lips. "Please, Citra, let me go. I have to do this."

She shook her head. "I cannot allow you to leave. I love you too much, Jason. I have waited so long for you and I cannot wait any more."

_Just drive a fucking bullet through her fucking skull._

Jason knew he couldn't let a dead man control him. He wasn't crazy enough to actually shoot her, but he could listen and maybe Vaas had a point. A bullet. Maybe that's all it would take. If she was going to deny him what he wanted, he would just have to deny her what she wanted.

He dropped her hands and stepped away from her, towards Dennis, and leaned close as if to tell him something. Dennis did exactly what Jason wanted: he tightened his grip on the knife. "You can't kill me," Jason whispered to the other man before turning and grabbing the pistol from Dennis' hip holster: a 6P9 Makarov, extended mag. Jason quickly put distance between himself and the other Rakyat and made sure his back was against the wall of the temple, away from where his friends could see. They didn't need to see what he was about to do.

Jason examined the gun with a sick fascination and tested its weight. He quickly checked the extended magazine. Good, it was full. Ten bullets. It felt heavy in his hands when he aimed it at Dennis. No response, so he tried Citra. Dennis growled but still no reaction from her. It was only when he lifted the cool metal of the barrel to his own head just like in the visions that Citra finally cracked.

Jason heard a weak flurry of 'no' escape Citra and met Dennis' glare. "If you keep me from leaving with them, if you keep me from protecting my people, then you're not worthy of me." She choked on a gasp and Dennis growled. Hopefully that hurt just enough to get through to her, to show her he was serious. Jason knew it was a huge gamble, but he'd always loved to take risks. Besides, he was certain the odds were strongly in his favor. If she really did love him as much as she said, she would stop him.

"No, Jason. No. Please, don't." Jason almost laughed. He had no intention of actually pulling the trigger, but some part of him thought it was nice to hear someone begging for his life. Fuck, he was really starting to scare himself.

"That's why you gave me the tatau, right? So I could fight for the Rakyat, so I could fight for you? I'm going to fight for you, Citra. I'm going to go with them whether you like it or not. Don't make me do this, Citra."

Citra leveled him a frantic, heavy look and finally relented, turning towards Dennis. "Go. Grab the best warriors you can find and three vehicles. Find them a ship. No matter what happens, I want them safe. All of them. Protect them with your life, warrior." She shooed him off when he hesitated, mouth agape in protest. "Go." Dennis turned and left with his tail between his legs.

Once he was far enough away, Citra visibly deflated. Jason lowered but didn't drop the gun when she approached him. She palmed his cheek, ran a thumb across his lips, and affectionately nuzzled her forehead against his. "Jason, look at me. I love you. Please, you do not have to do this." She sighed. "Please, come back to me. You come back, and I am yours. _We_ are yours." Not once did she try to take the pistol.

Jason glanced above them and saw that Daisy had the blade and all the bonds were cut. Daisy and Liza were halfway down the steps, watching him, and Ollie and Riley were trying to walk a whimpering Keith forward. Fuck. How much of that did they see? He would have to deal with it later, once they were off the island and he had a few beers in him.

Jason nodded to the girls, then to Citra. "I will. For what it's worth, you have my word," he was pretty sure he'd never felt this high from relief before. He reached down with a smirk and pulled back the sleeve of his privateer uniform, revealing the ink that nearly reached his hand. "After all, I still have to complete my tatau. When I return, I _will_ be the best warrior on the islands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now that that hopefully coherent chapter's out of the way, I'm going to try to keep this short. I know I'm pretty late to the party as far as Far Cry 3 goes but holy shit, that game drew me in and wouldn't let go. Especially when I saw how great Michael Mando's portrayal of Vaas is and how he really brings the character to life. Especially when I accidentally skipped the credits, looked up the incredible music that plays during the beginning of them, and found the song. You know, the one that starts with ticking? The one that plays at the end and during the Vaas fight scene? It's called "I'm Sorry." Holy fucking shit, that song. Just the title of that song. I'd like to think I'm not super overanalyzing it when I say that between that and Jason's tiny monologue at the end of the "friends ending," so much more depth was added to Jason's character. It moved me enough to lose hours of sleep and to write. The fact that he wasn't okay at the end made it so much more believable.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first fanfic and hopefully I'm only gonna say this once: but I would appreciate it if you did something. Anything. Comment, kudo, PM just so I know I'm doing something right. Also don't hesitate to criticize or tell me if I'm doing something wrong or if I missed something. It's all appreciated.


	2. Monsoon

Jason could only watch as Dennis ran down the steps towards the other warriors. They were interspersed between lit pyres, simultaneously slinking in and out of the shadows in some form of ceremonial dance. It was mesmerizing, the way they all moved as one to the beat of a drum. Dennis trudged from one to the next, checking their tataus and interrupting the ones he saw fit. Once he grabbed a handful, he disappeared into the darkness with the others.

Jason turned away when he heard his friends and brother approach the stairs, Keith leaning on Ollie's shoulder and Riley's good arm. Now that they were close enough, Jason could finally get a good look at all of them. Liza appeared withdrawn with an angry red line forming on her neck. He couldn't blame her, she was probably scared shitless. _I did that to her._

Daisy had a nasty-looking bruise growing high on her cheek but aside from a few other cuts and scrapes, she didn't look much worse for wear. She'd always been one of the strongest people Jason knew.

Now that the adrenaline from the flight had worn off, Jason could tell that Riley was in agony. The hole in his shoulder was slowly oozing blood and was a screaming shade of red. His face was set in a grimace Jason had only seen few times before. It had to hurt like hell, especially after his arms were forced above his head for so long. _Especially after I pushed the bullet in deeper._

Ollie didn't appear to have any injuries, but looked more sober than Jason had ever seen him before.

Keith was the worst of them all. Even in Ollie's and Riley's arms, he was a shuddering, whimpering mess. They were trying to coax him down the stairs, but he refused to budge. He wasn't like that in the cave, what the hell happened? Jason watched anxious eyes dart from warrior to warrior as they danced in and out of hiding. Jason didn't want to imagine all of the things Buck did to him, but it was worse than anything he'd imagined if this was any indication.

Jason was pulled out of his scrutiny when someone spoke. "Look at that, there's so many of them. If they weren't trying to kill us, this would be totally awesome," Riley muttered through labored breaths. Ollie nodded in agreement.

The Rakyat _were_ trying to kill them, weren't they? Jason had no idea what actually happened at Dr. Earnhardt's mansion, but there was no way in hell he'd let it happen again. He instinctively moved to stroke the handle of his machete, something of a comforting habit he'd formed, but remembered it wasn't there. They took it.

Suddenly, Jason felt naked and completely vulnerable. Even with the weight of the pistol, it wasn't enough. He frantically scanned the temple for his gear but there was so much darkness, he couldn't see much. "Citra," he called. She looked up from her position against the wall. "Citra! Where's my stuff? You took my stuff, where the hell is it?"

Her eyes hardened. "You will not need it. You will have warriors with you. They will protect you."

Christ, did she have to bitch about everything? She was lucky she was hot and there were so many Rakyat around them, otherwise he would have just driven a bullet through her skull. Everything was so much easier if there was just something he could shoot. "You want me to come back, right? What if I don't? What if I go out there and we get ambushed?" Frankly, he didn't trust Dennis to help them if bullets started to fly. Just like that, the burning in her eyes was extinguished. "If I have my gear, that won't happen. They won't even get the _chance_ to ambush us."

"Fine," she conceded. "Everything is by the entrance, next to the door." He nodded and turned away. She called to his back, "Jason, I love you. Please, be careful."

"I will," and with that, he took Keith from Riley's arm. He didn't need to mess up his shoulder more than he already had. _More than I already messed it up._ Jason cleared his head with a shake and led Keith down the stairs, murmuring words of encouragement in his ear.

* * *

By the time they made it to the entrance, Keith had sealed his eyes shut and allowed Jason to lead him through the warriors so long as he kept talking. Jason didn't know how much of Keith they would ever be able to bring back from this. The lively spark that used to burn in his eyes was gone; now there was only the startled surveillance of a spooked animal.

They stopped at the doors and Jason scanned for his gear. When he found it hiding in the shadows in a corner, he passed Keith off to Daisy. Jason rummaged through the rucksack and found that everything had remained untouched. His wallet and all of the holsters and pouches, they were all there. He strapped on the weapon holsters and ammo belt, shoving everything else into his rucksack. He slung the rucksack around his shoulders and found his weapons piled in the far corner, also untouched. A sense of euphoria washed over him, like he was reuniting with long-lost friends. He buckled the machete into its shoulder sheathe, strapped in his Shadow, his Shredder, and his silenced Z93 sniper rifle, and secured his bow across his back just above the quiver.

Finally, he felt whole again.

Liza and Riley gave him knowing looks, like they knew how much better he felt with the weapons. They were looking at him like he was an entirely different person with all of the loops and holsters and weapons attached to his body. Maybe, with all of the gear, he _was_ a different person.

Jason pointedly ignored their stares as he ducked out of the temple. He found Dennis and five other Rakyat he'd never bothered to learn the names of leaning against three Scavengers. Most of their tataus weren't even halfway up their arms. Jason smirked. "You guys the cavalry? Don't worry, boys, Snow White can handle himself. It's the dwarves you gotta make sure you keep safe," he swept an arm towards his friends.

Dennis crossed his arms against his chest and scowled. "Citra wanted us to keep you all safe. Including you. We will drive you to the doctor's cave. You can use the boat-"

"That _you_ burned, shot, and sank." A sneer was evident in Daisy's humorless laugh, one Jason had never heard before. "Or did you forget about that?" At least Dennis had the courtesy to look a little sheepish. Daisy shivered to hide a muttered curse and turned away from him, disgust clearly written all over her face. "Jason, do you have any ideas?"

Jason nodded. Through the time he'd spent on the island, he had seen several boats but one stood out to him in particular. He knew almost nothing about cargo ships, but this one seemed used enough to have everything they would need.

"Hoyt had a private dock down on the South Island. If there's a decent boat on this island with enough supplies for us to get to some kind of city, I'm sure it'd be there." Jason yawned. "For now though, we should head to Amanaki Town and stay there for the night. Dennis knows where it is, so he's going to drive us there, right, Dennis?" It was meant as more of a demand, but he gave a stiff nod anyway. "Good. I was planning on going there anyway. I have a stash there with stuff that we'll need once we get back to Bangkok."

Jason turned toward the Rakyat. "So, these Scavengers only hold four people, five if we squeeze in tight." He looked at his friends. Daisy appeared to be the only one fit to drive. "Daisy, would you mind driving one with Keith, Riley, and Liza?" She shook her head. "Excellent. Ollie, you can either squeeze in with them or ride separate and I'll ride with Dennis. Everyone good?" Nobody objected.

* * *

The moon was directly overhead by the time they reached the outside of the town. Most of the trip was spent in an awkward silence after revealing to Dennis that his brother didn't know that he was coming back and he would appreciate it if it stayed that way. He didn't need everything blowing up before he even left the island. If it didn't, Jason explained with a look at his uniform, a privateer named Foster might just come along and ambush the Rakyat and his friends might just happen to get away.

When they arrived, it was eerily silent in the town without the villagers drinking and dancing to whatever song was on the radio. Even the macaques were nowhere to be found. Through the soft glow of pink and yellow lights, Jason led his friends and brother to the town's safe house.

It was only when he stepped inside that the exhaustion from the day's events finally caught up to him. The lack of adrenaline in his system was palpable as Jason leaned against the workbench to steady himself and let the rucksack slip from his shoulder. One of the loose straps swung and smacked what was left of his finger, sending a sharp spike of pain shooting up his arm.

He muffled his cry with grit teeth and a curse and hopped up on the table to dig through his rucksack. By the time he located and yanked out the syringe kit, his friends were wandering around the room and Riley was leaning in the doorway. Jason called him over as he injected one of the medicinal syringes into his own tataued wrist. A pleased groan escaped his throat as a wave of numbness rippled up his arm and down his hand, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

A shadow hovered over him as Riley leaned forward on the table. "Holy shit, Jason," Riley panted, obviously still in pain. "What happened to your hand?"

Jason held up his hand and stared. Every time he looked at it he expected the finger to just reappear. It felt like it was still there, like it was invisible but still usable. He had to remind himself that it was gone for good. Through the space where the finger should have been, he saw his friends were staring with varying degrees of shock etched across their features.

Instead of answering, Jason handed Riley a syringe. "Take the cap off and inject it into your shoulder. It's medicine. It numbs and probably prevents infection," Jason said with a shrug.

"Probably?" Riley took it hesitantly. "You sure it's safe?"

"Wouldn't give it to you if it wasn't. I've been using it since…shit how long have we been here?" Nobody replied. Jason watched as Riley examined it for a few moments before injecting it into himself. Almost instantly, a look of relief crossed his face and he muttered his thanks.

Jason held up the kit. "Anyone else want one?" Four faces remained frozen in shock and Jason shrugged again. "Suit yourself. This shit's incredible."

"But…but Jason!" Liza was the first to find her voice. "Your finger… it's…"

"Gone, yeah, I know," Jason grimaced. "I'll explain later but long story short, Hoyt cut it off. Thought he was being fuckin' hilarious, said something about never getting married."

After a short pause, Jason continued, "Anyway, I'm hungry and tired and I'm sure you guys are too." They murmured their agreement. "There's only one bed in here and I don't think the floor's very comfy so I'm gonna go see what they have at the store." Jason gestured toward the door. "Liza, would you mind?"

Liza gave him a slow nod and followed him outside. As they neared the general store, Jason noticed that something was off. He turned and saw Liza stop a good distance behind him. It was just another reminder of how hard he pushed her away.

"Liza, can we-," he swallowed hard. "Can we talk?" She nodded but didn't move any closer. Jason leaned against the wall of the store, his leather suit creaking as he slid to the ground. Suddenly, the air was too hot, too thick. Jason had to roll up his sleeves.

She took a hesitant step forward. Cautiously, she asked, "What is it, Jason?"

He settled his elbows on his bent knees and rested his head in his palms. He wished she would just shoot him and get it over with. It would be so much simpler. "You know I would never hurt you, right?" She didn't meet his eyes. Okay, he knew he deserved that but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't know if it was the powder or something else but- but I would never, _ever_ , hurt you." _You considered it, hermano._ "Not for Citra, not for Dennis, not for anyone. Fuck, I don't know what happened but I couldn't move and I wanted to cut you down as soon as I saw you but I _couldn't fucking_ _move_." Jason paused to take a breath. "I just—I don’t know. I don't want you to be scared of me. I'm sorry, Liza. I'm just really, _really_ sorry."

She was looking at him with a mixture of pity and something else Jason couldn't place. She remained quiet and the silence was eating at him. "Liza, please. Say something."

She stepped closer and crouched next to him, speaking slowly, "I know you're sorry, Jason. I just- I'm not scared of you, not anymore at least. The car ride here, it gave me time to think and now…now I think I'm just worried.

"Your finger's gone and you don't seem to care. You have bandages all over your arms and paint on your face and you're wearing someone else's clothes. Did you kill him, Jason?" She glanced at the name on his pocket. "Foster, I mean. No, wait, no, no—don’t answer that," she said quickly. "I don't think I want to know."

A spark of fury ignited his chest. Who the fuck was she to judge him? He did what he had to do to make sure they survived, and all she did was criticize him. The rage cooled marginally when she touched his face and wiped most of the paint off.

"Look, Jason. I'm not judging you and I'm not—I'm not trying to insult you." She sighed. "You protected us, you _saved_ us. If you weren't there, if you hadn't done what you did, we wouldn't even be here." Liza shuddered. "I know you had to do a lot of things to get us. Terrible things, things I don't even want to think about. So for that, thank you. But the thing is, Jason, whatever you did, it's affecting you. It changed you."

She was right, the jungle _did_ change him. It made him stronger, faster, better than he ever was before.

"Now, please don't say anything. I know you're mad but I just want you to listen. Daisy, she told me about some of the shittier stories Grant told her," Liza screwed her eyes shut. "The 'real ones,' the ones he kept from you and your brother. Ones about some of his army buddies with PTSD. She only told me about a couple of them but that was enough. Jason, it was awful.

"She said they couldn't sleep and they got mad all the time at the smallest things. They thought everyone would turn on them and they _obsessed_ over guns. A few of them were even hearing voices, seeing things that weren't actually there. And she said none of them had ever killed anyone, Jason, they just watched someone else get shot but that was enough."

She sighed again. "Jason, I know you've had to kill people and I just—I’m really worried about you. Before, back at that temple, you were…talking to someone but there wasn't anyone there," she said carefully. "Before, you said I was looking at you like you're crazy. I don't think you're crazy, Jason. Look at me. You're _not_ crazy…but I think you need to get help. Or at least let someone to help you through this."

Jason didn't know how to respond to any of this. Of everything Hoyt and Vaas did to him, he never expected them to have fucked him up this much. He could handle physical damage. Hell, he'd been shot, stabbed, and burned so many times it was a miracle he wasn't literally covered in scars. But this was something else, a-whole-nother monster.

He knew what PTSD was; just about anyone with a high school education knew the basics. It was just one more reason not to go back to Santa Monica. He would be a bomb just waiting for something to set him off.

_You are so fucked, Jason._

Liza took his good hand in both of hers and her eyes finally met his. "Please, Jason. I forgive you. For everything you've done I forgive you, but _please._ I want you to get help. I want you to talk to someone when we get back."

The only problem was: he didn't want to go back. That's why he rode in a separate car. That's why he didn't let his friends say much when he was in the safe house. That's why he got out of there as quickly as he could. If he distanced himself, it would be easier for them to accept him staying. _Five fucking band-aids,_ he thought dryly, _just gotta rip them off._

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Liza's face fell as she stood. "You were serious? I mean, I know we're not together anymore and I don't get it but I think I've started to accept it. I know in the cave you said you're staying, but Jason, the others…they gave up on you. But I didn't. I thought, you know, you rescued us. You didn't kill us. I thought that counted for something but I guess I was wrong.

"You know what," she snapped. "Fine! Fine. Let's just…go get the beds." She threw open the store door and all but ran inside. He thought about stopping her, but this might just be her band-aid.

Jason knew he was being a dick but he couldn't go back. Besides, this was inevitably going to happen. Better sooner than later, right?

As he stepped into the store, he saw the owner giving Liza a sour look. From the way the muscles in her arms tensed, Jason could tell she was pointing a gun at her from behind the counter.

When the elderly woman noticed him, she lowered the gun slightly and nodded in greeting with a muttered "Snow White."

Jason checked his wallet and it was completely full. Sweet, he had money to blow again. "I'm guessing two hundred should be more than enough for five bedrolls, one—no, two bottles of the strongest shit you have, ten bandage wraps, and a basket of fruit." She nodded and he handed her the cash. Liza grabbed the basket and bandages and turned with a huff. Jason sighed, grabbed the beds, and followed after her. The walk back was slow and uncomfortable with a heavy silence blanketing the town.

* * *

When they returned to the safe house, he found Riley passed out on the bed, Keith sitting against the corner, Ollie leaning on the desk, and Daisy sitting at the foot of the mattress. They turned at the sound of the door opening and stared appreciatively at the fruit basket. Liza handed him the basket with less force than he'd expected.

Jason passed out bedrolls and fruit and stopped at the edge of the bed next to his brother. Any resentment he still felt over Liza evaporated immediately. "He's had a hard day today," Jason sighed as he told whoever was listening. Four faces turned to him. "Y'know, we almost lost him too. They were gonna take him away today, sell him to some jackass who-" Jason could feel pressure growing behind his eyes, "who 'likes them _young._ '" His voice cracked and Daisy stood to hug him.

"You know, I'd be dead if it weren't for him. We were at an airport and the only way out was with a helicopter and if it was anyone else, I don't think we would've made it." The day's events were finally taking its toll on him. Jason had never cried in front of anyone and he didn't plan on starting today so he sat down and dug his palms into his eyes when Daisy let him go. Liza's face softened and she rested her hand on his shoulder. "He saved me. He didn't think he could fly it but he tried and he did." As heavy as his voice was, Jason heard something he almost didn't recognize. Was that pride?

That was weird, he thought. He and Riley had never been close before this trip. After their dad died, Grant had taken up the role of father figure in their house and he was the one Riley would go to if he needed to talk. Grant was everything he needed and Jason was just the jackass older brother that called him a baby and never showed up for anything remotely involving Riley. Hell, Riley was looking forward to seeing him and everyone else at the pilot's license ceremony and Jason didn't miss a beat when he said, "I'm busy."

Jason had never particularly felt any form of pride for Riley. He was too busy dealing with his own shit to keep in contact after he moved out but now—now something had changed. Although the whole experience didn't make them anything close to friends, they _were_ closer and Jason figured that had to count for something.

Suddenly, a bottle was shoved in his face and Jason recognized it as one of the bottles of vodka he had bought from the general store. Ollie smiled and told him to drink. Jason rubbed at his eyes, grabbed the bottle, and remembered why he'd bought it in the first place. "Daisy, can you wake Riley up?" She looked up from her bedroll and nodded, shaking Riley awake.

Riley looked around the room, disoriented and half-asleep until Daisy pointed towards Jason. Bleary eyes watched him as he approached the bed, opened the bottle, and secured it in Riley's hand. "Riley, you're gonna want to drink this. Get nice and happy 'cause this is really gonna suck." Riley, in his half-wakened state simply nodded and choked down the alcohol.

"We need to get that bullet out of you," Jason sighed. Suddenly, Riley was wide awake and vividly protesting. Jason awkwardly hugged him. "How long has it been in there? I think Keith told me about you…five days ago. More than five days?" Riley nodded.

Jason didn't know much about lead poisoning but it he didn't think the medicine would be enough for that. Fuck, they really needed to get the bullet out of him. "Drink as much as you can," Jason told him. "You're gonna need it."

Jason turned towards the others. "Once he finishes that, I'm gonna need you guys to help." None of them looked too happy.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Daisy asked. "I mean, can't we get like…a doctor or something to help him?"

Jason shrugged. "Citra and Dennis killed the only doctor I know of. Besides," he said with a raised arm. "See these bandages? Most of these are bullet wounds. I've been shot so many times I lost count and I've gotten really good at getting them out."

Daisy still seemed skeptical. "Trust me, Daisy. I know what I'm doing. We need to get it out before it gets worse than it already it. When he gets back to L.A., he can go to a hospital and get fixed up. I don't know much about infections and shit like that but I know you're not supposed to leave a bullet in your body for this long. We've lost so much already; he doesn't need to lose his arm too."

At that, Daisy gave in and the others followed. Now all they had to do was wait for Riley to get drunk enough to forget everything by the morning. A few good gulps should be enough. Jason knew enough about Riley to know he didn't drink often; he was as much of a lightweight as they came.

When Riley started to sway on the bed, Jason took the bottle from his hands and set it aside and opened a new one. "Feeling nice and fuzzy? I'm gonna need you to take off your shirt and lay down on your back." Riley slurred some unintelligible response and did as he was told. "Ollie, hold his shoulder down. Liza, Daisy, I'm gonna need you to get his legs. Keith, hold his body." As they moved into position, Jason dug into his rucksack and retrieved the whittled twig he'd used to remove so many bullets from his own body. He poured some of the vodka on it and sighed. This was really going to suck.

He approached the bed and once everyone was in position, he injected Riley's arm with another medical syringe and readied the stick. "I'm _so_ sorry, Riley," and with that, he shoved the twig into his brother's shoulder.

Jason anticipated resistance, even with the numbing medicine and the alcohol. The hole was a nasty, angry shade of red and it looked tender. He expected writhing and cursing and screaming and bleeding. What he wasn't ready for was the tears. Riley screamed and sobbed and all Jason could think about was the way _he_ made it this bad. _He_ pushed the bullet in farther than it already was. Jason tried to concentrate, but it was so hard when he couldn't even hear himself think. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.

He pushed in the stick until he felt it clink against something hard and Jason was sure Riley's scream woke half the island. He curved the flat end around the bullet and dug it out, warm blood oozing with it. Jason pulled the stick out, apologizing profusely as he splashed some of the vodka into the wound for good measure. Riley's voice broke and his friends were struggling to hold him down and Liza, Keith, and Ollie looked like they were going to vomit so he told them to get some air. As soon as their hands left him, Riley folded in on himself.

Before Jason could stop himself, he sat on the bed and soothingly rubbed his brother's back. "Daisy, would you mind bandaging him up?" She nodded and he continued to sob. "See, Riley," he helped him sit up and held up the bullet. "That wasn't so bad, right?" Riley choked out something resembling a curse and when he realized it was a slurred mess, he waved a middle finger in the air. Jason mentally laughed. He would be alright.

While waiting for the others to return, Jason took it upon himself to set up the other bedrolls. He set his up in the corner across from the door and leaned his weapons against the wall. The others came back visibly drained and laid on their beds. Once the room was quiet, Jason folded his arms under his head and made sure his pistol was easily accessible.

In the quiet of most nights, insomnia plagued his mind with memories of surprised looks and choked screams. Tonight though, darkness took him immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter was really hard to write and this was only supposed to be the first half of the second chapter but somehow it took on a mind of its own. Hopefully it doesn't come across as that.


	3. We Are Watching You

It was habit that stirred Jason from sleep before even the sun woke. He felt as though he hadn’t slept at all but he knew it would be a waste of time to try to get more. 

Jason winced when his bones popped and protested as he stood. He crouched and stepped feather-light across the room and over Ollie, towards the bed a shirtless Riley was sleeping on. Jason froze when his brother let out a loud, open-mouthed snore and shifted closer to the edge.

Once Riley’s breathing returned to a steady pace, Jason spread himself prone on the ground and reached for the far corner. He slid his hand across the floorboards until he found what he was looking for, dragging out a small leather bag before sorting through its contents.

He pulled out the six large stacks of cash he’d accumulated over his time on the islands. When his wallet was full, he’d secure the money in a leather band and stash it in the safe house. Weapons, while not in short supply, were still needed by the islanders and most shops were willing to pay a hefty price for them, even if they were once used by the pirates or privateers. That was one thing Jason could give to most of the bastards he’d killed—they knew how to keep their guns in good condition.

Jason lined the stacks in a row on the floor before he pulled out the remaining contents. Seven passports, wrinkled but still easily legible, were placed on top of the stacks. It was a minor miracle Vaas had put them with the rest of Jason’s possessions when they were first taken and the booklets survived his plunge into the ocean.

Jason replaced the cash and the passports in the bag and hid it under Riley’s shirt on the bed. It was placed out of the way enough so that any wandering natives wouldn’t be able to find it but his friends would notice it immediately when they woke up.

He silently stepped back over Ollie and strapped on his gear, making sure to leave a couple of medical syringes and bandage wraps on the desk for Riley. Jason would need to make more syringes later but he figured Riley would need them more than he would. Riley’s shoulder was pretty fucked up as it was and Jason knew from experience how sore it would be when he tried to move.

Jason shuffled his way over to the door and grabbed a mango from the basket on his way out. He tried the handle, holding his breath as the door creaked open.

 _Shit_.

 He scanned the room and they all appeared to be asleep. Jason sighed in relief. As he slipped through the door, he could only hope they wouldn’t hate him for running off again.

The cool early-morning breeze was refreshing on his exposed arms but was still blocked by the thick leather of the privateer uniform. Jason couldn’t wait to get out of it and back into his own clothes. He was starting to chafe in places no man ever should.

Jason wandered along the road, nodding in greeting as he passed a couple natives poking at the central bonfire, and made his way to the Rakyat and the vehicles. Apparently it was late enough in the night that all six were awake but still too early to break the silence. Dennis sat sideways in one of the driver’s seats, taking slow sips from a water bottle. An older man with swirly tattoos covering his face and most of his body leaned against the hood of the same Scavenger with arms crossed and chin tucked against his chest. He seemed to be the only one taken from Citra’s personal guard. One with a cloth band pulling hair away from a young face watched the town entrance with another boy that had several elastic bands tied around both of his arms. They were both still kids–there was no way in hell they were older than sixteen. A massive, bald warrior Jason vaguely recognized sat in the front of the third vehicle and tossed a small rock from hand to hand as the last stared, transfixed, at the dull flame of a zippo lighter.

They were supposed to be Citra’s best warriors—they were supposed to be prepared for anything at any time. Jason decided he would test them.

 _Show these shits how fucking useless they really are,_ Vaas whispered from behind.

Before he was close enough for them to notice, Jason crouched low and crept around the side of a hut, rolling his steps and sticking to the deeper shadows of the overhang. His hands searched the ground until he found what he needed—three rocks each roughly the size of a baseball.

He took one in hand, leaned around the corner, and threw it against the metal sheeting that fenced the town at a spot not too far from the Rakyat but a couple house lengths from himself. It bounced off with a sharp ping and alerted all but Lighter.

He threw another one and it hit in the same spot. All six raised their guns and a couple of them muttered to each other, swinging their rifles toward the sound. “You heard that, right?” Lighter asked Rocky. “I’m gonna go check it out,” Headband said as he circled around the fencing and searched the outside. Armband followed but remained on the inside of the fence.

Before they got too close, Jason threw the last rock at the same spot. Both Headband and Armband rushed the fence and Jason pressed himself against the hut’s bamboo wall. It was risky and probably stupid, but he peeked around the corner and found Lighter wandering off on his own and Rocky wisely holding his position in the Scavenger. Tattoo whispered something to Dennis and suddenly both were looking right at him. Jason pulled himself back behind cover and flattened himself against the wall.

Heavy footsteps approached him as Dennis taunted, “Come on out, little kitty. If you wanted to play all you had to do is ask.” He was just on the other side of the corner and there was no way for Jason to back out. Dennis could easily kill him and probably would as soon as he figured out what Jason was doing. Jason’s heart tightened in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

 _Kill the worthless chicken fuck,_ Vaas hissed. _Take your fucking machete and chop the motherfucking bitch to pieces._

He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. As much as he hated Dennis, he was still an ally. Though, that didn’t mean he would willingly put his life in the other man’s hands. He unholstered his silenced pistol. He would take back control.

Jason pushed himself off of the wall, allowing the pink and yellow string lights to reveal him. “Dennis, don’t move,” Jason said before Dennis could round the corner. Jason readied his gun and grinned. “You have the right to take my life. But know, I will also take yours.”

Dennis wore a steely expression as he rounded the corner. “Jason,” he said, finger twitching near the trigger. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Seeing just how good ‘Citra’s finest’ really are. Gotta say, not too impressed,” Jason said with a forced bravado, holding up what was supposed to be three fingers on his bad hand. “Three of you passed. Three failed.” Jason lowered his weapon and brushed past Dennis on his way to the Scavengers. “Call back the others. We’re leaving.”

Dennis faltered before grabbing Jason’s arm and spinning him around. “What about the others?” he asked. His head inclined toward the safe house. “Your friends,” Dennis spat.

“Aww, Dennis, I had no idea you were so jealous,” Jason smirked. “There’s more than enough of me to go around… but for right now you’re just gonna have to share.”

Dennis growled and his eyes narrowed into thin slits. Jason couldn’t hold back a chuckle—he _literally_ fucking growled. “You think all of this is a game, Jason? It is not. Citra gave you her love, she gave you everything, and still you abandoned her.”

Was he fucking serious? Why the hell couldn’t he let that go if Citra seemed to be able to?

“You are no better than Vaas. You think the world revolves around you, Jason, but it does not.”

“Mine does,” Jason said with arms spread wide. _The world is on a diagonal and_ “I am the balancing point.” He hated using Vaas’ words, but right now he didn’t care as long as it pissed Dennis off. “Now call back your men. Chop, chop. We got things to do and people to kill.” He turned and walked the distance to the cars.

Tattoo glared and Rocky raised his gun in greeting.  Jason reassured them there was nothing to worry about and that they passed as he spread his map on the hood of the closest car.

It took them a while but eventually Dennis stormed back to the vehicles with the failing three following close behind. Before any of the Rakyat could get a word in, Jason held up his hands in a disarming gesture. “Okay, so I'm sure you’re all wondering what that noise was. Consider it a… a placement test, I guess.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dennis snarled from behind. A couple of the Rakyat grunted in agreement.

“A placement test,” Jason repeated. “You know: strengths, weaknesses, how far you can go in life. That thing I’m sure you scored _really_ low on back in America, remember?”

“You threw stones at a fence,” Tattoo interjected before Dennis could react, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Patient _and_ perceptive,” Jason winked. “That’s why you passed.”

“I do not understand,” Tattoo said with a quirked eyebrow.

“I threw three rocks, one right after the other, at the exact same spot. If you guys waited before you rushed off, it should’ve been obvious it was a distraction,” Jason said with a shrug and pointed at Headband, Armband, and Lighter. “If you were pirates and I actually wanted to kill you, you three would be dead. There would be mines set on either side of the fence and you,” he nodded towards Lighter, “would be bleeding out with a knife in your-”

“Okay, we get it,” Dennis barked. “They need more training. What is the point of all this?”

“The point is: I have a plan and I needed to know where to put each of you.” Jason turned to his map and the others crowded around. “Here’s us at Amanaki Town. From here, we’re going to go to Broken Neck Home,” Jason said as he traced a finger along the road to the southeast corner of the island. “It’s one of our outposts and if I’m remembering right, there should be some motorboats there we can use. From there, we’re gonna go to Harmanse Gas on South Island and then we’re gonna go here,” Jason said, indicating a small blue dot just further inland from Turtle Hill.

“You are bringing us to a pond?” Dennis asked. “How is that going to help?”

Jason shook his head. “No, not a pond. A cenote. Y’know, like an underwater cave. It doesn’t show it on the map but it has a way out to the south and Hoyt used it as his own personal dock. If there’s anywhere on these islands that has a boat like what we need, I’m sure that’s it.” None of the Rakyat seemed to readily disagree, so Jason examined the sky. A small amount of light was just starting to bleed in over the eastern horizon. “The sun’s gonna be up in probably… about an hour. I was hoping we could be off North Island by then.”

Dennis surprisingly didn’t disagree and instead, slid into the driver’s seat of the first Scavenger and started the ignition. “Go wake your friends,” he demanded.

“No can do,” Jason reached for the handle of his machete and ran his hand across the intricate designs. “They’re staying here for now and so are those two,” he said, nodding at Tattoo and Rocky.

Dennis rose from his seat and the cool air suddenly grew thick with tension. He said nothing, instead choosing to stare Jason down. Surprisingly, it was Rocky who broke his own silence and, with the tone of a man used to taking charge, he stated, “We are not splitting up. Citra wants us to keep you safe. We cannot do that if you are not with us. There is no reason to divide ourselves.”

 “Yeah, actually, there is. I don’t know if any of you’ve actually _met_ Hoyt but I have and the guy has a back-up plan for his back-up plan for his back-up plan,” Jason said as he folded his map. “He knew I was coming for him, which means if there was any way for him to escape through the docks, he would send men there to guard it and I’m not putting my friends in that kind of danger. Look, right now, we’re wasting time. I don’t want my friends getting hurt and this is probably the safest place on both islands for them. Besides, that’s why the two of you are staying. You guys seem to have the most experience so if anything happens, I’m counting on you to keep them safe.

“We don’t have to make this harder than it already is,” Jason continued when the creases in Rocky’s forehead refused to disappear and he ran a hand over his bald head. “You all have radios so when the path’s clear, we’ll let you know and you can come meet us there. I need you guys to trust me. I’ve already thought this plan through. If you follow my lead, no one will get hurt.”

It wasn’t long before Rocky finally relented and Dennis pulled out of the village with all but Tattoo and Rocky piled into one vehicle.

* * *

The ride to Broken Neck Home and then to Harmanse Gas was short, but it gave Jason the chance to once again marvel at the beauty of the islands as the rising sun glowed a fiery orange behind the tips of the trees. If the brutality of the pirates and the constant threat of the wild predators were ignored, the Rook Islands could definitely be considered paradise.

At least, Jason figured, the north one could be. South Island was beautiful in its own right, but it was far too open, the terrain too jagged for Jason to wholly appreciate. That was also the reason why he decided to leave Armband and Headband at the gas station. Bringing more people with him to the cenote meant there was a greater chance they’d be spotted in the thin foliage and the two didn’t seem to have enough experience for Jason to trust them to hold their own. Dennis actually agreed on that and ordered them to stay.

They walked the remaining distance to the cenote, the early morning sun radiant in the clear sky. Jason led the way to the same vantage point he used when first scouting out the cenote: a small cluster of trees a good distance from the camp and on the other side from the road.  

Jason, Dennis, and Lighter crouched low in the shade of the trees, appreciative of the much-needed relief from the sun. Dennis was thankfully quiet and Lighter seemed to only speak when spoken to, leaving Jason with the task of memorizing the patrol paths of the several privateers surveying the horizons. Jason was right to assume that Hoyt would double up the guard.

“There’s too many,” Dennis murmured. “We should have brought the others.”

“They would’ve been a distraction.” He was right, though. There were many more than Jason had remembered from the last time he was here. With his camera, he had counted nine privateers and two recruits making rounds, but that was only the ones outside of the cenote—there was no telling how many were swarming inside. “I’ll come up with something. Just give me a minute.”

Jason quickly motioned for silence when Dennis made to argue. He’d taken back outposts with more guys than this all by himself. With the pirates, this many would have been a breeze. Most of them were consistently somewhere between wasted and completely fucked-up and none could track for shit. The sober privateers, however, were much better trained and were quick to pinpoint his location even if the discovered soldier managed to topple over a balcony or crawl away in a desperate attempt to get help.

Despite that, there were two things Jason quickly learned when dealing with the privateers: it was always best to keep moving and the soldiers love their routines. The mercenaries tended to swarm the one spot that he had sniped from before fanning out, making it easy for Jason to herd them towards a camouflaged brick of C4. Their biggest weakness, though, was that there was always a flaw in their mapped paths—a patrol that put a soldier just a few too many feet away from everyone else or just barely out of the others’ lines of sight—that painted a massive target on their head.

Dennis crouched up next to Jason and observed the patrols through squinted eyes. Another minute had gone by and of-fucking-course he was growing impatient. “There is no way for us to do this alone,” he murmured again.

“There’s a way. There’s always a way. I just haven’t found it yet,” Jason hissed.

“It is impossible,” he repeated. “I’m calling for backup.”

Dennis fished a small radio from his pocket and gaped when it was snatched from his hand before he could even get a solid grip on it. “What part of ‘give me a minute’ don’t you understand?”

Dennis stood and puffed himself up, absolutely seething. “Give me the radio. Now.”

Jason held the radio far from Dennis’ reach and Lighter wisely stayed put. “Why? So you can ‘help me?’ Yeah, okay, so tell me this,” Jason said in a low voice. “Where were _you_ when I was wiping out the pirates, huh? Where was my help when I killed Buck? Vaas? _Hoyt_?” Dennis’ brow pinched and eyes glinted dangerously. It looked like he struck a nerve. “Oh, huh. You were off getting drunk at the temple, weren’t you?”

“Give. Me. The radio,” Dennis said again. Lighter flinched at Dennis’ upcoming meltdown but Jason stared back.

“Nah, I don’t think I will,” Jason slipped the radio into his pants pocket. “I don’t think you appreciate just how… delicate this situation is.”

His temper was visibly cooled, if only slightly, by curiosity. He took the bait. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s say we get a few more guys and go in guns blazing like you want to. We take out the eleven out here, and then what? We alert every single fucker inside there and it’s a one-way street from here to the docks with a billion hiding places in between. We might as well just give ourselves to them now; maybe they would kill us quick just for being so nice. Now, I don’t know about you but I really don’t feel like dying today.”

Dennis didn’t say anything, but really he didn’t have to. Between the twitching eye and the pinched brow, Jason had all the assurance he needed to know Dennis wouldn’t be blowing their cover anytime soon.

Despite that, his pride wouldn’t let him give in so easily. “So what would you have us do?” he asked, tone sharp as a knife. And what was Jason supposed to say to that? Everything he could think of only brought them this far. There were so many ways everything could go to shit. “What is the plan?” Even if this was the best-case scenario and all the guards were outside, eleven to three wasn’t the best chance of winning even if he’d gone up against worse odds every day on this island. If they did call in backup, that might be better but there was no telling how much backup the privateers had of their own. “You don’t have a plan, do you?” Dennis sneered as Jason’s brows knitted together.

Something told him to _just shoot him, just_ _end this fucking misery_. The thought buzzed and swirled around his head like a gnat determined to drill an entrance into his skull. _It would be so easy. Just two muffled clicks._ Then he would finish this on his own. Nobody else to worry about. He would do this alone like everything else.

That triggered something – fragments of a long-repressed memory wrestled its way to his mind’s eye. A cold room veiled in shadows, windows blackened by thick curtains. Grant staring into him, a firm hand on his shoulder. “Jason, come back,” he said. He squeezed. He was real. Still there. Solid, warm. Alive. He wouldn’t leave him, never gave up on him, not like everyone else. As much as he wanted to, Jason couldn’t push him away too. “It’s not your fault, J. I will listen.” Pulled him into a hug. Pulled him back. “You can’t do this alone. Please, just put it down.”

The room glowed blinding white and he was back under the sun’s glare, the solid weight of the tree digging into his back. He pushed the memory back down and tried to go back to forgetting it ever happened. The buzzing was gone. Lighter stared at him with eyes blown comically wide and Dennis inched a hand toward the blade sheathed on his own hip. Lighter seemed to be chanting something, something like “We will listen. Please, put it down.” Jason let his hand drop to his side, the barrel of his pistol no longer staring down at Dennis’ head. Dennis palmed the handle of the machete as if deciding if he should draw it. He didn’t.

Jason took a few heaving breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. Grunting, he stood and leaned against the side of the tree. Sweat trickled down his neck, leaving an icy trail that plastered the collar of the uniform to his skin. He had to get out of the sun; the heat was driving him crazy.

 _That’s not the heat, J,_ Foster whispered too close to his ear, his patient tone a mockery of Grant’s. _That’s just you._

Jason ignored him, it was easy enough. He was actually starting to get used to having Foster talking to him. At the very least, he wasn’t as bad as Vaas.

“You are very lucky Citra wants you kept alive,” Dennis spat, pulling Jason from his thoughts. “That is twice now you have pointed your gun at me. Most do not even get a first chance.”

“And that’s twice, almost three times now you’ve pulled a machete on me, but really, who’s counting? I know I’m not. You’re just lucky some stupid part of me still thinks you’re on my side.”

A range of emotions flashed behind his glasses as though he was coming up with a thousand responses and he was trying to pick one. “Give. Me. The radio,” he tried again. Fucking great. They were back to this.

Jason was about to tell him to go fuck himself when one of the privateers decided it was finally late enough to break the early-morning silence. “Hey, boy!” a deep voice echoed across camp. Only a couple took interest, the rest kept their bored gazes trained on the tree lines. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

One of the recruits had broken from his patrol and was fidgeting next to the metal shipping containers. He turned at the man’s voice and called back, “Where the hell do you think, man? I’ve been holding it in for, like, an hour now. I gotta piss!” The man yelled at him to watch his tone. “What, do I need to ask for a friggin’ bathroom pass?” The recruit slipped around the farthest freight container and disappeared behind some bushes before the privateer could yell back. He muttered something before turning back to continue his rounds.

This could be the chance he’d been waiting for: his way in from the inside. “Both of you: stay here,” Jason hissed. The last thing he needed was Dennis blowing his cover. He turned to Lighter. “Seriously. Stay. Here. I’m gonna see if I can get some kind of intel so I’m trusting you to keep _him_ here. As soon as I walk through those trees, I’m one of them. So unless you wanna go two against twelve, _Dennis_ ,” Jason angled him a glare, “then I suggest you stay put.”

Jason didn’t really have a plan but he knew a perfect opportunity when he saw one. At the very least, he could just get what he needed and slit the recruit’s throat. He figured he had to at least look the part, so he dropped all but the machete, silenced pistol, and SMG and made his way toward the recruit, careful to circle the camp far enough away so he wouldn’t be spotted. He tilted his helmet low and pulled the neck gaiter high over his nose just in case.

By the time Jason reached the recruit thankfully unnoticed by the others, the trainee was just managing to tuck in and zip up. And, Jesus, he really _was_ just a boy—with jet-black hair and big doe eyes, he reminded Jason so much of his baby brother that he hesitated when the recruit turned and noticed him approaching from behind. The privateer didn’t make a grab for the rifle slung carelessly around his back, so either he thought Jason was one of the men stationed at the cenote or the camp wasn’t on red alert. Either way, Jason was thankful for his luck.

“Seriously,” the recruit said when Jason couldn’t find his tongue, “they sent _you_ out to get me?” Jason felt every muscle in his body tense as the recruit eyed the embroidered name tag on his vest. Jason had to force himself to keep his bad hand hidden and not on his machete. “Foster?” No spark of recognition, no real threat in his eyes. Jason willed his muscles to loosen up. “Jesus, I’ve been gone for like a minute and a half, _maybe_. You know I can take care of myself, right?” Jason nodded at him and shrugged as if to say ‘orders are orders.’ The privateer huffed and slid his rifle into his hands.

Jason shifted on his feet. This was already going on for way too long. The other privateers would be waiting for the recruit to get back soon and he really didn’t want to be there when they sent out the actual search party. In a brief moment of panic, he decided to abort whatever this was–to slide his machete into the privateer’s throat and hiding the body in some nearby foliage. Jason had seen it enough times before—he just picked a recruit, hid the body, and the others would just assume the job was too much for him. They would simply call in a deserter and that would be as far as their search went.

Jason eyed the weapon in the recruit’s hand. Some kind of automatic assault rifle without any kind of silencer. _Shit_ , Jason thought. It was too risky. There was no doubt the privateer would get some shots off as some form of last stand and Jason really didn’t want to alert the others yet.

“You’re new too, right?” the recruit pulled uneasily at the fabric of his collar. He seemed so out of place compared to the hardened mercenaries Jason was used to killing. He didn’t have much by way of muscle and he didn’t seem like he had any sort of military training or experience. Jason doubted he even had much experience with firearms. He seemed almost uncomfortable with the assault rifle in his hands, fidgeting with the strap like he couldn’t get the weight distributed comfortably.

Jason gave a curt nod, really not wanting to make any kind of connection with this kid. He looked at Jason expectantly like he was waiting for some kind of details, so Jason said, “Just joined a couple of weeks ago. Seemed like a good way to make money.”

 “You came to this shithole on your own?” the kid asked incredulously, his eyes blown wide as saucers. He angled his shoulders so the gun-strap slid marginally higher. Jason was acutely aware of just how long this was taking and really wished the kid would just sling it around his back like it had been before so he could get this over with. “Fuck, man. I really don’t know why they sent you out to get me,” he said after a few moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence. “It’s not like they’d actually give a shit if something happened.”

The kid didn’t seem like he’d be letting go of his gun any time soon so Jason would just have to work with this. “You seem like a good kid. What if I told you I could get you outta here? Come here, I gotta tell you about something,” Jason said, circling a cluster of trees so they were between him and the camp.

The kid shot him an apprehensive look before tightening his grip on his gun, risking a backwards glance at the camp, and muttering something that sounded like, “I’m not a fucking kid.”

If there was one thing Jason was admittedly incredible at it was making shit up on the spot and having it stick. It’s how he won so many games of poker. Much to Riley’s annoyance, he could ‘weasel himself out’ of just about any kind of situation or punishment he found himself in when they were younger.

The recruit reminded Jason of Riley when he was younger and didn’t understand that he couldn’t always get his way. Jason bit back a laugh. “Are you _pouting?_ ”

The kid followed him around the tree with narrowed eyes. “I'm fucking twenty years old and I’m not fucking pouting.” He was definitely pouting as he settled himself against the tree and let the rifle fall to his hip. This was probably the best chance Jason was going to get, so he took it and lunged. “So what were you go—”

Jason cut him off with a machete to the throat and watched his wide, panicked eyes immediately trail down to the knife strapped to his shoulder. “Don’t even think about it,” Jason warned, putting a firm pressure on the machete with one hand and unhooking the strap from the kid’s assault rifle with the other. Once the rifle clattered to the ground, Jason slid the bowie knife from its shoulder strap and flicked it safely into the dirt next to the rifle. Adrenaline shook in his hands as he searched the kid for any other weapons. Instead, he found a bright yellow nametag velcroed to the front of the kid’s vest. Pvt. Davis. _Fuck._

“Please, man, I don’t even wanna fucking _be_ here but they made me sign a contract and I can’t get out of it and they said they’d hurt my mom and baby sis, man, please, don’t kill me, _fuck_ , I don’t know what my mom would do if I died, please,” Davis whimpered all in one breath, his gaze never wavering from Jason’s.

 _Fuck_ , Jason thought again, because there wasn’t even a chance Davis was lying, not with the genuine worry bleeding from those puppy eyes. And then the realization hit him like a fucking truck. He couldn’t kill this kid. He would be killing someone else’s Grant and he couldn’t even wish that on anyone. Besides, he didn’t need any more ghosts haunting him and somehow, he was sure that’s exactly what would happen.

So Jason made a deal with Davis. He would answer all of Jason’s questions honestly, and in return Jason would kill the man threatening his family. On top of that, he got to escape with the promise that if he was ever seen again, Snow White would kill him personally. Davis’ eyes widened even more at that, whether it was because of shock at being given a deal so favorable or recognition of the name of Vaas’ killer, Jason didn’t know. Maybe it was a little of both.

Of course, Jason had absolutely no intention of killing the kid even if they did see each other again. He really only added the threat in hopes that Davis would find his way off the island and away from the privateers.

 _Look at you,_ Foster’s remark was pointedly ignored. _What a fucking saint!_

Expectedly, Davis hastily agreed, eagerly telling Jason how they hadn’t had any contact with the Compound or “the Boss-man” since communications went offline around noon the day before and a few men were recently transported to the cenote, making twelve in total other than Davis himself. He told Jason about the man in charge here, Sergeant Bennett, who was responsible for the threat against his family and that they were ordered not to let anyone else in until they received communication again.

Jason knew it was risky and probably a bad idea, but once he had everything he needed, he let Davis go. He watched as Davis ran into the jungle, away from the camp with only the bowie knife for protection. Jason refused to feel bad about that. It wasn’t like the rifle would do the kid much good when he could barely hold it. Having it would probably just end up slowing him down.

Just as Jason finished unloading the assault rifle and burying it in nearby foliage, the telltale clomping of approaching military boots caught his ears. Jason ducked behind the trees and was about to sprint behind one of the nearby bushes when he heard the small, echoing ring of metal striking metal. Jason risked a peek between the trees and found a dark-skinned merc leaning against the far edge of one of the shipping containers, his gun strapped to his back.

“Yo, Private Fuck-tard.” He already hated the fucker. Jason pulled himself back behind the trees, hoping the privateer didn’t see him. “Since you can’t even go for a piss without taking your sweet-ass time, you got sixty seconds to zip up and get back to camp before I get Bennett to chop your cock off for wasting _my_ time. Are we clear?”

Jason didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond. The merc probably knew Davis’ voice and if Jason answered instead, it would blow everything. He was about ten feet from the closest bush large enough to hide behind. It was a huge risk but if he could just make it there without getting spotted, he’d be home free. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting found. Jason pulled himself into a crouch and checked the SMG on his back and the pistol and machete on either side of his hip. He stopped, though, when the distinct sound of creaking leather caught his ears.

“Sixty seconds.” Jason could tell from the soldier’s voice that he was facing the camp rather than the trees. He took the chance and ran behind the bush. He had to come up with a plan.

“Fifty-nine.” Jason tipped up his helmet and wiped away the sweat. If what Davis said was true, they were waiting for orders from the Compound. He could use that.

“Fifty-eight.” Jason searched his pockets for his map.

“Fifty-seven.” He spread it out, his fingers trembling as he found the Compound and the road leading to the cenote, both bases marked in red by Willis.

“Fifty-six.” The Compound was to the west, straight in front of him. Jason put the map away and took off, sprinting to the road while using the foliage and shipping containers as cover.

Fifty-five. Fifty-four. Fifty-three. Fifty-two. Jason made it to the ferns littering the side of the road and watched from a distance as the privateers continued to lazily make their rounds. He could go in there, make some kind of distraction. But he had to make it believable—just keep his cool and act like he was supposed to be there. He quickly made the framework of a story and thought up answers for any obvious questions they might have. He didn’t have time to double-check now but there were only two privateers down below last time he counted. If it stayed like that, he could take them out first and work something out from there.

Jason readjusted the SMG that had come loose from the run, picked a good moment, and made a mad dash towards the camp. It would probably look suspicious—a single privateer going full-force on-foot towards the cenote, but he had no other choice, not with probably less than half a minute to act.

Between the thick leather suit, the weight of the guns, and the sun beating down on his face, Jason didn’t have to try too hard to fake his panting by the time he neared the camp. Three of the ranked mercenaries stopped him at the border, all sharp glares and raised guns. Jason decided to take it personally.

Foster was supposed to be a recruit, so when Jason got close enough, he stopped just in front of the mercs, crouched over, and pretended to gasp for breath. Ignoring their demands for identification, he stared at the ground and panted, “Why… the fuck… is it… so fucking… hot?”

Jason risked a glance and saw that, while they didn’t look amused, at least the barrels of their guns weren’t pointed directly at his head anymore.

“I’m not going to say it again. Who the fuck are you?” the one in the middle with the aviators asked.

“Foster. Private Grant Foster,” Jason said, straightening up and pulling himself to attention like he had seen Grant do so many times. He made sure to hide his bandaged finger.

“Ease up and turn around. I'm going to have to kindly, and respectfully, ask you to fuck off. No one in or out until we’re told otherwise.”

“That’s just it,” Jason said in what he hoped was passable for parade rest. He glanced towards the shipping containers and saw the dark-skinned merc still facing the camp. Jason held back a sigh of relief. The merc seemed more interested in the newcomer sprinting at his camp than in counting. Jason turned his attention back to the man in front of him with more confidence now that he wasn’t so rushed. “I’m from the Compound. Hoyt sent me. I have news for the man in charge. I think his name was Sergeant… Bennett.”

“He sent _you_?” he asked, unconvinced. “Just you. A fucking cherry. All by yourself.”

Again, Jason decided to take that personally. “Yeah, he did. They tried to radio you but it wasn’t going through.” He shifted on his feet. “Would you mind not pointing your rifles at me? Thanks.” He waited for them to lower their guns before continuing. “Look, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Snow White attacked the Compound. He got in somehow and fucked up all the vehicles. Now, I wasn’t gonna question Hoyt when he asked me to go alone. The guy before me did and got his throat slit ear-to-fucking-ear, so can I _please_ speak to the man in charge? It’s urgent.”

The man in the middle whispered something to one of the privateers beside him. He waited for the merc to disappear into the cenote, probably running off to alert the boss, before asking, “So where’s the papers?”

“Papers? What papers?” By now, Jason was sure he had the attention of the entire camp, even if they were only watching from a distance.

Jason could feel the asshole’s glare even through the aviators. “You fucking stupid? The papers. The orders. Written and signed by Hoyt. The ones that come with every message.”

Jason took a deep breath to regain his cool and pulled his face into an anxious expression. “Like I said man, ear-to-fucking-ear. I didn’t know that much blood could come out so fucking fast.” He shivered like a chill ran up his spine and he leveled his gaze to those cold glasses. “Look, all I know is this: I was told to see Sergeant Bennett and I’m supposed to talk to him directly. If you want to send some people to Hoyt to confirm it, fine. But when I left, he was gearing up to take Snow down personally so it’ll probably take a few hours to find him and, like I said, what he left me with is urgent.”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” a voice said from behind Aviator Asshole. The two men in front of Jason stiffened almost instantly into attention at the thin bald man’s voice and Jason figured he should do the same. “At ease, everybody. Evans, Grayson, sit rep.”

The two men in front of Jason launched into explanation of everything they had learned so far. Jason took the opportunity to glance around the camp. The dark-skinned mercenary was gone, probably searching the jungle for Davis. The privateer that was sent away was back and retook his position next to Aviator Asshole.

Something caught Jason’s eye high up on the hill overlooking the camp. Whether it was a glint of light or a very faint movement, he wasn’t sure but he was sure he saw _something_. Only, no matter how long he stared at it, he didn’t see it again. Jason pulled his attention back to the camp and the mercenaries around him. Foster was probably messing with his mind, making him see things that weren’t actually there again. If he acknowledged it, he gave it power. So, he willingly ignored it.

Jason had just finished recounting eleven sets of black and yellow when Aviator Asshole stepped aside, allowing the bald man to hold out a wiry hand after adjusting his military-grade hat. He introduced himself as “the man in charge.” Jason took the hand and shook it, matching his deceptively strong grip.

The whole exchange seemed more than a little strange. None of it was forced and, while Bennett’s clothing and shaved head screamed military, the privateer himself seemed scrawny underneath his baggy uniform. Hell, even Riley could probably overpower the man if it came down to it. And despite the fact that he could stand behind any of the other privateers and disappear completely, his presence was somehow made commanding with an educated air about him that Jason hadn’t seen in any of the others. His lack of hostility only served to make Jason even more uneasy, especially with what he knew of the sergeant.

“So, Foster, is it? You are to relay a message?”

“A message only for you,” Jason said as he glanced to the three men around Sergeant Bennett, hoping they would get the hint and fuck off.

“Very well,” he said. “Please, follow me. We have much to discuss.”

Bennett abruptly turned and, ignoring Aviator Asshole’s protests, made his way down the makeshift steel platforms to the first cave-turned-sleeping area. Jason followed right on his heels as he was led towards the bottom of the cenote, fighting the urge the entire way to roll his steps and stay crouched behind cover.

 _No wonder the privateers up top seemed so sluggish in making their rounds_ , Jason thought as they reached the bottom floor. They probably hadn’t slept since they got here, not with the deafening roar of the waterfall filling the entire cavern.

Bennett led Jason past the docks and a fancy luxury yacht where, according to his count, the last privateer was sorting though some high-tech film equipment. Even from a quick glance, Jason could tell some dumbass had way too much money on their hands judging by the amount of professional-grade video cameras and latest versions of tablets the mercenary was sorting through. The equipment was probably worth more than the yacht itself. Either way, the yacht appeared to be in perfect condition and he was sure it would work for getting his friends home.

His attention was peeled away when Bennett cleared his throat and stopped in front of a steel door carved into the wall. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Bennett asked as he motioned Jason into a makeshift office and closed the heavy metal door behind them. Jason couldn’t tell if he was talking about the yacht or the pistol that the man started petting in his hands.

“Sir?”

“She came in about a week ago, carting two rich pricks and all kinds of American glory. Wouldn’t you know,” he said, “that of all places Hollywood thinks they can shoot a film, they pick the least abandoned island possible.”

“Sir,” Jason tried again. He really didn’t like the way Bennett was casually waving the gun around and the nasty gleam in his eye while doing so.

“I mean, that’s just poor planning right there, don’t you think? Kind of like, say, killing a man, stealing his name, and pretending to be him at the very place he was killed?”

“I don’t know—”

“But, in all seriousness, that’s just an example. Honestly, only an imbecile would even consider something that half-assed. I’m going to give you props, though. You really had my men convinced, dense as they are, and—don’t you even think about it or I’ll blow your dick off.”

Jason stopped the hand that was inching for his own pistol and bit his tongue at the sergeant’s choice of words. “Alright, just calm down,” he coaxed, searching the room for some kind of distraction. Loose papers and files coated the worn mahogany desk between him and Bennett. On top of one of the small file stacks sat a small laptop and a foot-long serrated carving knife. Several large filing cabinets stood against the far wall with a few boxes of ammo resting on top. Other than that and what was on the desk, nothing really stood out as particularly useful.

“And that’s the problem with kids these days. You all think you’re invincible. Like you can just waltz into a camp of, mind you, _fully-armed_ soldiers—”

An enormous crash at the room’s entrance cut Bennett off and his gun naturally followed the source of the noise.

This was the moment Jason needed. In a flash, he leapt over the desk, grabbing the carving knife and landing just behind Bennett. He wasted no time in jamming the blade through the man’s chest and helping him fire off a few shots at the unfortunate bastard who decided to interrupt their meeting. It wasn’t until he let go of the knife and shoved Bennett forward that he realized the other man was the dark-skinned soldier, likely rushing in to report Davis’ disappearance.

As the fact that he made it out of that whole exchange alive caught up to him, Jason took a few deep breaths to calm himself and poked his head out to see if the gunshots overpowered the roar of the waterfall. The privateer on the yacht was still fiddling with one of the tablets and there didn’t seem to be any evidence of soldiers rushing down the cenote, so Jason thanked his luck and shut the steel door behind him.

One of the best and worst things about the privateer uniform was that it was black. As disgustingly hot as the dark leather made Rook, if Jason got any of Bennett’s blood on him, no one would ever know.

Jason set his gaze on his next target: the soldier on the yacht. There was no way to approach him from behind, sitting in a chair and facing the docks as he was, but he seemed distracted enough with the tablet that Jason could probably take him down easily. Or, at the very least, the dumbass’ rifle was safely mashed between his back and the chair so Jason wouldn’t have to worry about that.

Jason crept down the docks, his pistol holstered but unstrapped and hands itching to take a hold of his machete. He had just taken his first step onto the yacht when the merc threw his head back and roared with laughter.

To the soldier’s credit, the man’s eyes found Jason before his hand could even twitch toward his machete. “Yo, recruit. My bad, totally didn’t see you there. Come over here, check this shit out,” the mercenary said, turning his back to Jason and holding the tablet so they could both see. “Hoyt’s little Chihuahua’s really fucking this cunt up. Look, he’s _pissing_ on him! It’s fucking hilari—”

Jason wasted no time in closing the distance, pressing the pistol’s silencer against the soldier’s head, and pulling the trigger.

The privateer was dead before he hit the ground, dropping the tablet face-up as he fell forward and bent awkwardly over the back of the chair. As quickly as he could, Jason pulled the corpse’s neck gaiter high over the bullet hole and secured it with the helmet so, at the very least, it wouldn’t be leaking blood everywhere.

True to the man’s word, the video was paused on a scene of a much healthier-looking Vaas sitting on the beach next to some poor dumbass buried neck-deep in the sand. It briefly caught his interest but he would look into it later—it would give him something to do if the boat ride became too boring.

For now, though, Jason leaned over the yacht and washed the disgustingly warm backspray of shit he didn’t want to think about from his hands. It still came as a massive shock when searing pain radiated up his left arm and he quickly withdrew his bandaged finger from the cool water. It felt like he lost his finger in some kind of dream and, one of these times when he looked down at it, he would wake up and his finger would just magically regrow.

Once his hand stopped hurting enough to be usable again, Jason grabbed the corpse from under the arms and dragged it to the room with Bennett and the other mercenary. “Three down, only nine to go,” he said, his words falling on deaf ears. After securing the door, he retraced his steps, smearing any stray droplets of blood into the dirt along the way and masking the stagnant pool on the yacht with the ship’s fire blanket.

Taking out the next four privateers was, admittedly, a piece of cake. All he had to do was go up to the surface and convince them to come down a pair at a time. There was really nothing to it; he just said that Bennett wanted more men on technology-sorting duty and, to Aviator Asshole—the only one that actually bothered to question him—all it took was mentioning something about a missing recruit and how he would hate to be the guy to interrupt Bennett’s work. To that, Aviator Asshole visibly paled a shade and practically sprinted down the cenote. Once down there, he quietly popped them in the head and stashed their corpses in the office.

With those four down, only five were left up top. Jason figured they would start to get suspicious if he asked for more help down below, so he would have to finish up the sneaky way.

When he reached the surface, Jason noted the one privateer sitting in the chair at the edge of the cenote, three—two ranked officers and one recruit—covering the main road, and one guarding the back road on the other side of camp. He caught the glint again in his peripherals from the hill overlooking the camp and Jason quickly spotted a flock of goats grazing nearby. Without sparing them a second thought, he waited for all eyes to be trained on the roads before sliding into place behind the sitting privateer, popping him with the pistol, and sending him down with the waterfall.

Fighting the damned urge to crouch, Jason made his way to the far side of camp where the single privateer stood. Jason quickly shot the group of three an assessing glance, confirmed they were still distracted, and took down the mercenary in front of him. Before the body could fall, Jason grabbed it by the chest and dragged it behind the nearby shipping containers, burying it beneath few of the larger shrubs.

Jason took a moment to lean against the container to calm his heart and let out the breath he was didn’t realize he was holding. The moment of calm was short-lived, though. His stomach sank when a powerful cry pierced camp’s the veil of silence, quickly followed by a chorus of bleating and the scattering of the flock of goats.

Well, fuck. Surely they hadn’t heard the silenced pistol firing from that far away. Had they noticed that they were the only ones left alive? Maybe they saw the bloody chair and realized something was wrong. Or maybe they saw him take their comrade down. He had been so careful to do this stealthily, but he knew he’d been way too lucky so far and luck could only save his ass so many times.

Jason took a deep, calming breath. He could manage this. He could do this. He just had to wait for another indication of their location and he could take them down with the SMG.

Another one shouted something that quickly turned into an unintelligible scream that actually made Jason’s blood curl. Jason peeked around the corner to find only the recruit standing, his mouth agape and head frantically following the scattering goats as if they were spawns of Satan himself. Only, he didn’t stand for long. The camp was one of the larger ones he’d raided but, even from this distance, Jason could see the recruit’s head was there and then—then it simply _wasn’t_. The headless body flung to the side away from the goats, a fountain of blood shooting everywhere from what was left of his neck.

Jason turned away from the scene and let himself slide down the side of the container until he was sitting on the ground, utterly exhausted. Yet, somehow, he managed the energy for a bitter laugh to involuntarily bubble out of his throat. It grew and grew until he couldn’t stop himself. He wasn’t laughing at the recruit’s face just before it disappeared completely or even the fact that his head popped like a fucking balloon. Or, at least, Jason hoped he wasn’t laughing at that. He should be used to that by now after watching it so many times through the scope of his Z93.

Of course. That must be it. He left his sniper rifle and bow with Dennis and Lighter. Dennis, the spiteful little bitch that he was, couldn’t even let him finish the job on his own. It was like he was dealing with a fucking five-year-old. Dennis had to go and steal his last three kills using _his_ fucking rifle just to piss him off. If that’s what he wanted, it certainly worked. Or, at least, it would have if he wasn’t so drained.

Jason sat there for several more minutes in silence, mulling over how fucking stupid Dennis’ petty grudge was and wondering when the hell he would finally come out to gloat. Jason sighed after several more minutes of nothing happening and dragged himself to his feet with a sour taste in his mouth. He made his way to the center of camp, removed his helmet, pulled down the neck gaiter, and shouted for the two Rakyat to come out.

Several long moments later, both Dennis and Lighter emerged from the foliage, Z93 in Dennis’ hands and the bow strapped around Lighter’s chest. The sight of Dennis holding his rifle took everything in him not to shoot Dennis straight in the fucking puppy eyes that made him seem so trustworthy so long ago. Instead, he let them approach him, let Dennis think he was still in control. He pointedly ignored Dennis, fully expecting some kind of bragging, and asked Lighter for his bow back and then for him to check on the yacht underground. He hooked the bow on his chest, waited for Lighter to disappear below the roar of the waterfall, and finally glowered at Dennis.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing? Give me back my fucking rifle and don’t you ever even _think_ about fucking touching it again,” Jason said, not too surprised when Dennis stood still, seemingly stunned. After everything, after all the times they fought, the bitch couldn’t take a little _swearing_? Jason took matters into his own hands and snatched the rifle away from Dennis. “Seriously, do you even _know_ how badly you could’ve fucked this up? I _know_ you’re not the best shot out there. Fuck, unless you spent the last week of your life at a shooting range and _not_ drinking, you’re a decent shot. At best. You just got so fucking lucky you didn’t miss any of them, ‘cause if you did and they found a way to call in backup, I swear to fucking God, I would kill you myself.”

Dennis’ big eyes widened even further. Jason couldn’t tell if he thought making himself look even more like a kicked puppy would calm Jason or if his brain was actually short-circuiting. “I do not know what you are talking about, Jason,” he said, somehow managing to sound genuinely confused. He deserved a fucking Oscar. “You killed those men. We did what you said. We stayed exactly where you left us. We did not move. We waited.”

Fucking Christ, not only was he like a child holding his finger an inch away from Jason’s face saying, “I’m not touching you! I’m not touching you,” he wouldn’t even give Jason the decency of taking responsibility for what he did. Jason didn’t have the energy to play this game. He drew the radio from his pocket and flung it at Dennis’ chest. “Here’s your fucking radio. Call it in. I’m done.”

Without giving Dennis the chance to respond, Jason turned on his heel and followed Lighter’s path down into the cenote.


End file.
